The Heartless Assassins
by charrrr
Summary: Striker is an assassin in a world after the third world war, a war between savants and ordinary humans. He's one of the best at his job, one of their leader's favourites, but Striker makes an unfortunate mistake whilst out on a job. To save the life of his closest friend, Striker lets himself get caught. And being caught leads him to know the truth: his whole life has been a lie.
1. Prologue

Author's note: (This may or may not be a long one, we'll see)

This is a new story that I've had the idea floating around in my head for a while now so I decided to start it now during the summer seeing as I have loads of free time now. (I'll still be updating The Best Of You and Innocent Illusions, don't worry - they're my main priorities) It's kind of a mixture of ideas I got from Finding Sky/Finding Carter/Throne of Glass, but I haven't put it in a crossover category because it only has F.S. characters in it, plus original characters.

This is just the prologue to set the world and stuff, but I'd still appreciate follows/favourites/reviews because I'm not sure whether or not it's a good enough idea to continue so let me know whether or not you'd like me to! Obviously I'll only continue if people are actually interested in reading it. I can't promise when I'll update because TBOY and II are my main priorities like I said, but with it being the holidays I have quite a lot of time to write because I have no life :)))

Obviously I don't own the Finding Sky characters, nor any similarities in this and Finding Carter/Throne of Glass. But I own my original characters, which you'll meet soon, yay! And the photo isn't mine either, I got it from google image search.

Oh and last thing: It is a story about the Benedict family! All will be revealed soon, although if you've seen Finding Carter you might be able to guess where I'm going to go with it. Also, it is no way connected to any of my other stories.

So yeah, let me know what you think and whether you're interested in me continuing it! The style of it is very different to my usual style so I'm a little unsure at the moment :)

* * *

**Striker**

It's been ten years since world war three ended. I was only two when it started; seven when it ended. Officially ended, anyway. In my opinion the world is still at war, just maybe not at such a great scale as it had been.

Although I was only young when the great war went down, I know enough about my history to know what happened. What happened was this: a Savant, some mentally unstable man that authorities never revealed the name of, revealed the existence of Savants to the rest of the world, to the ordinary humans.

We call the ordinary humans Standards now. As in, they're just standard, normal humans without any powers that come from the genetic anomaly found in Savants.

The Standards went crazy when they found out about us. They felt threatened, probably jealous too that they had no powers, and all the important people decided that Savants could not be allowed to exist in this world any longer. We were just far too dangerous in their eyes. So they hunted us down. And those that they found, they executed. Mass executions all over the world, people killed just for being different, just for being the way that they were born. Standards got hurt along the way of course, due to Savants simply trying to protect themselves. It was just death, death, death everywhere you looked.

That was when people started taking matters into their own hands, ignoring the demands of the Standard government and the Savant net telling them to stay out of it. Savants hunted and killed Standards; Standards hunted and killed Savants. People were killed just walking down the street, houses burned to the ground in broad daylight. It was worldwide pandemonium.

The sane people went into hiding, in abandoned buildings, underground, anywhere they could get to. But those sane people were far and few between. So many people got caught up in the idea that their world could be destroyed because of the announced existence of Savants.

Nobody was really surprised when the government and the net declared that Standards and Savants were officially at war with one another. The third world war had begun and it was just as terrible as the first two, if not more so. There was nowhere that was safe.

After about a year or two, a lot of the world was a wreck. Savant powers had caused destruction, both sides had used bombs and explosives, and people were living rough like scavenges. Safe houses were built, both sides protected by their military members. I remember hearing that the whole of New York belonged to Savants and any Standards that tried to enter were killed on sight.

There were uncountable losses on both sides, billions of deaths.

The war lasted for five years before the net and the government finally came into agreement about a peace treaty. Civilization started to be rebuilt, but it's a different world now. The Savants and the Standards are living together again, but it isn't the same as it was before the war. At schools and workplaces, the two kinds are segregated and kept apart. It is frowned upon for the two to socialize at all – this is the government's and the net's way of trying to stop further conflict, by just keeping us apart entirely.

All Savants have to be registered in a worldwide database accessible to anybody. All they have to do is go to their local library or visit a website online, and they get a list of Savant names. Apparently it's safer that way because then Standards get to know if there are any Savants living near them that may possibly be a danger to them. But even that isn't enough for the Standards to 'feel safe'. All Savants now have to have their registration number branded onto our wrists as if we're farm animals. It's disgraceful.

Has the world moved on from the war, even now, ten years after it ended? Hell no. The majority of both kinds are bitter about the peace treaty. They don't want peace; they don't want equality or segregation. They want a mass genocide. They want their human kind to be the only one left on Earth.

There is still plenty of conflict around the world. There are still fights and illegal murders occurring, still hate crimes and destruction of property. There's still death everywhere.

I contribute to that death. It's my job, a job that's technically illegal although the government and the net pretend not to know about it. They only punish us if we're caught, which is justifiable. It's a well known fact amongst us that if we get caught, it's our own fault and we have to get ourselves out of the mess. It's a good system most of the time.

Then again, can you really have any kind of a system amongst heartless assassins? Our group is fairly civilized, somewhat controlled by our leader Medea, but we aren't perfect that's for sure. Most of us don't have families, don't let ourselves get too attached to people – it's never clever getting attached in this line of work. None of us are even called by our real names – most of us, including me, don't even know our real name – and are named after what we're good at. For example, they call me Striker because I am ruthless and have never hesitated, not once in my entire life, to strike at somebody and deliver a blow or inflict an injury on them that will kill them. A lot of the time I even enjoy striking out at people.

Like I said, Medea leads us assassins well. But she can't stop our true nature from coming out from time to time. Nobody can. We fight, we always put ourselves first, and we'll take on each other's jobs if it means getting more money for ourselves.

And even now, years after the war, when we should be united and work together and not the let the world get the best of us again, the thing we do most to other members of the Assassin's Guild?

We betray each other.

Even those we might be considerably close to.

Even those who would never see our betrayal coming.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's note: Thank you to xxx-benedictbrothersfan-xxx, my first (and only, haha) reviewer for this story :)

So this is the first chapter where you get to see how I've involved the Benedict family and I hope you like it! Please review if you're reading xx

* * *

**Striker**

Her crystal blue, almost silver, eyes meet mine across the expanse of the rooftop. The sky is dark, but I can still make out her features as she pulls the black hood of her cloak up over her head, concealing herself as it hangs low over her face.

A moment later, she turns around and jumps from the edge of the tall apartment building. It doesn't worry me. I rarely ever have to worry about her if I'm being honest.

As I take my time walking over to her side of the building, I pull the hood of my own full length cloak over my head. I look over the edge of the building in time to see her land steadily on the balcony of a fourteenth floor apartment, three floors down from the rooftop we scaled up to. It always makes everything just a little bit more complicated when we can't just walk in through the front door, although in most cases we have to at least climb through a window. This particular apartment building has heavy security due to the high number of important savants residing here, so we have no choice but to break in through the patio doors this night.

I look down at her as she peers through the doors, most likely using her savant power to see how many energies, meaning how many people, are in the apartment.

Eventually she looks up at me and holds her left hand out flat, palm facing down. A lot of the time assassins work alone, stalking their targets and taking them out on their own, because they can't work together well. Her and me are an exception to this; we always have been. We were trained together and we do most of our assignments together. Over the years, as we've worked together, we've had to learn a number of hand signals to communicate in the silence on jobs seeing as she doesn't do telepathy. I know that this hand signal she is showing me now means there is more people in the apartment than just the person we are supposed to be killing, a forty-something man that works high up in the net.

I don't know how many people are in the apartment. Before I signal anything back to her, she suddenly lurches forward, clutching at her left shoulder as if in pain. When she pulls her hand away a few long seconds later, I see blood on it. It doesn't take me long to figure out what's happened: she's been shot.

Angry, I straighten up and look around, searching for what I know I will find. There, on the rooftop of the building across from this one, is a crouched dark figure holding a sniper rifle. The rifle moves up a fraction and I jump over the edge of the building just a second before a bullet goes whizzing over the top of my head, barely missing me.

I brace myself as I land next to her on the balcony, bending my knees to prevent an injury.

"You okay?" I quickly ask her, wanting to touch her but knowing that's her one top rule: no touching. She doesn't let anyone touch her, not even me and I'm the person she's probably the closest to out of everyone at the guild. I've learned the hard way not to break that rule and touch her in any way and she made sure that I got the message.

"It's just a shoulder shot," she says grimly, adjusting the strap over her shoulder that's holding her axe, her preferred weapon, on her back. "I'm fine." Her voice sounds strained and I know that she's in pain, but I also know not to push her. I force myself to push my worries for her to the back of my mind, telling myself that a gunshot to the shoulder will not kill her, as long as she gets away in time to sort it out before she loses too much blood.

Suddenly, the double doors that lead into the apartment swing open and we are pulled in by a large man. People in black surround us like a swarm of bees and we exchange a nervous glance. Using my power of reading minds, I get the hint from her that she's thinking along the same lines as me: we've been ambushed. This was all one big set up and these people are from the net or the FBI or something.

Our assignments are always kept very hush-hush, with only our leader Medea and maybe a few others in the guild knowing who our target is. So the only way for these officials to know that we would be here tonight is if somebody betrayed us.

But who?

We don't have time to dwell on these thoughts, time to figure out who on earth betrayed the two of us, however. There are guns pointed at us and we hear somebody shout out, "you are under arrest. Anything you say-"

Of course we don't let him finish speaking. Well, she doesn't. Like always, she's the first one to react. She kicks out, hitting one of the men in front of her straight in the stomach, causing him to grunt and lose his grip on his gun. She quickly grabs the gun out of his hold and aims it at him.

I roll my eyes, a giddy smile spreading across my face. I'm excited; I've been desperate for a good fight recently, something to get the pent-up anger out of my system. I start bouncing on the balls of my feet, rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck. Adrenaline pulses through my system as I prepare myself.

_This is going to be fun_.

Before anyone can anticipate my move, I strike at the guy to my left, my elbow hitting his nose. The impact blows him backwards and he falls to the floor, the back of his head striking the laminate with a thud.

My action is what gets the game rolling. They charge at us, guns ablaze, but I know they can't shoot us without the risk of shooting one of their own – they're in too close proximity for their guns to be useful which plays in our favour.

She and I aren't quite that concerned and we aren't afraid to do some damage with our weapons. She drops the gun she stole and pulls her axe from its holding strap over her back, swinging it in a figure eight in front of her menacingly. The axe is heavy – which is one of the reasons she is the only one in the guild who prefers it over the other weapons – and she's more comfortable with it in her other hand seeing as she's left-handed, but she can still do damage with her right hand too. We are all trained to be equally strong with both hands.

For now, I choose to participate in hand-to-hand combat rather than using my weapons. The only thing I am focused on is fighting. As they charge at me, I throw punches left, right and centre, kicks and elbows and even a head-butt or two. All those fighting lessons and training sure do come in handy. I don't manage to knock any of the men unconscious, showing they are just as well trained as I am, but I am tiring them out a little.

One of them manages to get a good punch at my face and I feel the familiar warmth of a nosebleed, the blood trickling down over my mouth. I ignore it and swing back at the guy, knocking him into another person. They both topple down to the floor like dominoes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her swinging the axe at any who come too close to her, blood spattering the darkened room and bodies dropping to the floor. There are about twenty people in here altogether and she has already caused six to be no threat. She holds her axe in front of her, facing the rest of them in a stance that suggests she's almost daring them to approach her and try anything.

I lurch forward a few steps when somebody roughly kicks my back but quickly steady myself, hands already moving towards my belt. My own preferred weapon is a dagger – easy to use, light, and many possible ways to inflict damage with. My belt holds numerous daggers dangling around my waist and I grab two, flinging them outwards. One hits a man squarely in the chest, the other embeds itself in a man's arm.

I pull a third dagger out, clutching it in my hands as I move to stand beside her, the two of us against the rest of them. We are heavily outnumbered and ordinarily that wouldn't even be a problem for us when we're working together; we've been in this sort of situation before.

But one quick glance sideways at her and I know we're in trouble. To them, she may look steady and strong like the act she is giving them. But I know that tonight she is _not_ steady and strong. I notice the grip on her axe is just a little bit too tight which won't give her the freedom to move it around in a fight as easily as she will need. The hood of her cloak has fallen down and I notice her breathing is laboured and her skin is pale and clammy. Beads of sweat stick to her forehead. There's no way she can continue fighting and get out of here alive. She's lost too much blood from the gunshot wound.

"Art," I whisper quietly, my eyes not leaving the men in front of us but my words still directed to her. "You need to get out of here."

In my peripheral vision I see her head flip to mine. This just proves how exhausted she is: on a good day, there is not a chance in hell that Art would take her eyes off an enemy. "Striker, what the hell?" She hisses at me, and I hear anger and confusion in her voice. "We're in this together."

"You won't survive this with your shoulder like that, you look like you could pass out at any second," I point out to her through clenched teeth. The officials are all tense, staring at us. They can't hear our conversation but a quick delve into their minds lets me know they think we're planning something and they're preparing themselves for reacting quickly. "You go; I'll fight them."

"You don't stand a chance on your own."

"Well at least I can distract them long enough for you to get out of here. I'm not afraid." I'm not lying to her either. I'm _not_ afraid. I haven't been afraid of anything for a long, long time. But that's just part of the trade, I guess. Assassins have to be fearless. We have to be heartless and emotionless on our assignments. We have to be sure of ourselves and our strength. I am all of these things, and so is she, and I care about her even though we're not supposed to care about anybody, and I want her to get out of here alive. I cannot let her stay here fighting when I know it won't end well.

"Medea always says that we should put ourselves first," she whispers in a reply to me, sadness in her tone. That doesn't surprise me – she's sad a lot of the time. "So technically, you shouldn't do this. You should be focusing more on getting yourself out of here instead of helping me out."

"Yeah well," I quickly flash her a smile before returning my eyes to the enemy, "I never really was one for following the rules."

Without waiting for a reply from her, I bend down to grab a gun from one of the fallen men and shoot the first person I see. I moved in a hurry, too fast for their response to be quick, and the man I shot is on the floor in less than a second.

I charge forward, shooting the gun aimlessly. I drop it and start pulling daggers from my belt, throwing them and cutting skin whenever I get a chance to.

It doesn't take long for them to overpower me. Somebody hits me hard across the face, stunning me. Before I can get my bearings again, I'm roughly pushed to the floor and I feel a foot on my back, holding me down. Handcuffs are secured around my wrists and I hear the words of an arrest being spoken.

I'm not listening though.

Looking around the room, I don't see her anywhere. She isn't on the floor, collapsed or dead, and she isn't being arrested or restrained anywhere that I can see. A breeze blows in through the open doors, ruffling the curtains.

I use my power to get into the mind of one of the men surrounding me and hear his thoughts: _"can't believe we let the other one get away. How the hell did she even manage that?" _I see an image in his mind of Art disappearing over the edge of the balcony. Despite being on the fourteenth floor, I'm not afraid or worried for her. She'll have gotten to the ground safely. It's part of our training to be able to scale a building of any height. Hell, we could probably do it blindfolded we're that good at it.

I breathe a sigh of relief at the thought that she's safe, that my distraction worked and she escaped, and I allow myself to be pulled to my feet and out of the apartment, accepting whatever fate lays in store for me.

* * *

**Striker**

I've been locked in this office for an hour, according to the clock on the wall. It's a standard issue office, nothing special about it, and I am handcuffed to the table. It's not a comfortable position to be in, I have to be honest, and the handcuffs are on too tight and making my wrists feel sore.

I won't tell them that though. _Them_ being the FBI, the people who ambushed Art and I at the apartment. I want to ask them how they knew we would be there, who tipped them off and betrayed us, but I know that it was probably an anonymous tip and even if it weren't they wouldn't tell me.

They've barely told me anything other than the usual 'you're in a lot of trouble and it's just going to be worse for you if you don't co-operate with us', blah blah blah. All that malarkey means nothing to me. If us assassins get caught, we get punished. Sometimes that punishment goes as far as the death penalty but that's only if they know the extent of the individual's crimes. Most of the time the punishment is prison, which I know for a fact is what's going to happen to me no matter how well I co-operate with them.

I think they're expecting me to tell them assassin secrets, tell them where we are all living or something. They don't normally track us down, they leave us to it seeing as they have more stuff to deal with in the aftermath of the great war. But I bet they would focus on us if they knew where to look.

Despite being here because I was betrayed, I'm not going to betray anyone myself. I have better morals than that.

The silence in the room is broken by the sound of the lock clicking open and the door swings open. Agent Benedict, the FBI agent who was lucky enough to question me earlier, enters and locks the door behind him. He strides over to the chair across from me and takes a seat.

Agent Benedict is a tall man with wide shoulders and a strong body. His skin colouring is similar to my own, a light brown almost golden colour, and his dark hair is scraped back into a low ponytail. Earlier, when he questioned me, his large brown eyes were hard and his whole being screamed at me that he wouldn't put up with any cockiness or back talk from my end. He'd been harsh and brunt with me, his face angry.

Now however, he looks... Nervous. Why would he be nervous? He has nothing to be nervous of, it's not like I can hurt him or anything in the position that I'm currently in.

Agent Benedict opens the case file he'd placed on the table in front of him and clears his throat, his eyes looking up to meet my own. He shakes his head as if in wonder. "As you know," he starts the conversation. "We need to know your identity to get things rolling. Since you aren't speaking to us, we took your fingerprints and a DNA sample." I smirk at him. He got so frustrated earlier when I just sat back and stared at him, not saying a single word to answer any of his questions. The DNA sample and fingerprints won't matter. I never registered as a savant and my name is not on any database that I know of.

"We ran your DNA and prints through our database and we got a match." This surprises me although I try not to let it show. How is that even possible? "Your data matches that of a boy that went missing during the war. The boy's parents – _your_ parents – reported that you had been kidnapped from your bedroom in the middle of the night when you were three years old. There have been no reports or sightings since then, leaving the family with no answers as to what happened to you. Until now."

"I don't understand," I blurt out. I silently chastise myself for breaking my silence, but I couldn't help myself from saying those words. This doesn't make any sense! I don't remember anything about being kidnapped, about having an actual family. Medea never mentioned any of this to me.

"I'm presuming by that response that you know nothing about this?" Agent Benedict speaks, interrupting my inner monologue. "Well..." He shifts awkwardly in his seat. "It isn't uncommon for a victim of a young kidnapping to not know their real identity. Whoever kidnapped you must have given you a different name, right? I don't know what they called you, but your real identity is that of the boy that was kidnapped. Your DNA proves that.

"Your real name, your birth name, is Zed Benedict."


	3. Chapter 2

Author's note: The feedback for the first chapter was great, thank you so much! I hope you like this chapter and review again :)

So this chapter is in the POV of Striker's friend Art from the first chapter. The next chapter will be back to Striker's POV and you'll get to see the outcome of the end of Chapter 1.

Just a warning that the story may change to a few different POV's to get into different character's minds, but Striker and Art will be the main two.

* * *

**Artemis**

One thing assassins have to learn to be good at is being patient. Stalking your target and learning their routine can take a while and without that you stand no chance of easily killing them. Patience is essential – three words I have heard over and over again as I've grown up.

I am usually quite good with waiting around and being patient but so help me God I'm not right now.

It didn't take me long to get back to the guild, all I had to do was find one of our grates on the ground in a dark alley and make sure that I hadn't been followed. You see, the government and the net expect us to be living in some grand stadium far out in the country somewhere, maybe even hidden in the desert or the woods or a rainforest, but the truth is we're right below their feet. Literally. We live underground in a society that was built during the war. We have everything we need here, and more.

The training facilities are the biggest section of our so-called home, with the hospital wing being second. Right now I am in a bed in the hospital wing, having been lucky enough to be given a private room because of my standing with Medea.

When I arrived at the hospital wing, all my demands to see Medea immediately were completely ignored. The nurse focused on getting my gunshot wound seen to and stitched up, gave me a blood transfusion because of all that I lost, and finally, only after she was sure I'm going to be okay, did she say that she'd send word to Medea that I was in the hospital wing and needed to see her as soon as possible.

That was over an hour ago. My patience is wearing thin and not only that but I feel like I'm going to drive myself crazy. I have always hated staying still for long periods of time so being in the hospital now is like my own personal prison. I am also making myself feel worse by thoughts of Striker and the fact he let himself get captured so that I could get away.

Why did he do that? I could have fought for however long I needed to and yes, it probably would have ended up badly for both of us, but I hate that I went along with his plan and just left him there. He never would have left me behind, despite us always being told to put ourselves first.

I remember the first time I met Striker when we were both six years old. He'd already been in Medea's care for a few years before I arrived on the scene so he gladly helped me get into the routine of things. We had a connection straight away; we just seemed to understand each other. We became very close friends at such a young age and not even Medea could keep us apart.

I guess I could call Striker my best friend. My _only_ friend. He's the only person that I trust with everything. I mean yeah I have secrets from him, things that I don't talk about to anybody, but I know that when I'm ready to talk he'll be the one I go to.

Correction: He would have been the one I'd go to. Now he's most likely going to end up in prison for at least a couple of years and after that, who knows what will happen to him? Most of the time if one of us is released from prison, Medea has one of her bodyguards visit that person and wipe their memories of where the guild is from their mind. Once an assassin has been captured, Medea never lets them back into the guild in case they have a repeat performance or can no longer be trusted. That assassin then has no contact whatsoever with any of us ever again.

I'm terrified that I'll never see Striker again.

The door to my hospital room swings open and Medea finally walks in, one of her personal bodyguards behind her. Her guards are pretty much anonymous, dressed in black cloaks that cover armour underneath, their hoods pulled down so low nobody can see their faces. I'm surprised they can even see anything to protect her properly.

As always, Medea is stunning. She is tall and thin, the kind of body a supermodel would have if being a model was still a job like it was before the war. Whereas the rest of us always wear black, Medea always wears white. Today she is in a perfectly white pants suit and blazer, with a white shirt underneath and white heels on her feet. The whole outfit screams elegance and perfection. Her auburn hair falls down to the bottom of her back, naturally straight and not a strand out of place. She welcomes me with a smile, her green eyes sparkling.

I have always been in awe of Medea, not just because of her beauty but because of her power. She created the assassin's guild during the war after she realized that the world would never be the same again and some people really did not deserve to continue living after the mistakes they made. She was only twenty when she created the guild and now, at the age of thirty-five, she is one of the most powerful women in the world. Even if people don't know what she really looks like or where she lives.

She's somewhat like a mother to me.

Ordinarily, the youngest Medea lets people join the guild is eighteen. And even then, they have to have some sort of history or reputation that's enough for her to have the person hunted down and recruited. She makes sure all her assassins get the training they need and, depending on how much training they needed in the first place, they eventually take a series of tests that determine whether or not they're good enough for the guild. If they pass, they're in; if they fail, their memories are wiped and they're kicked out.

However there are six exceptions to this age rule: myself, Striker, Athena, Cassandra, Dagger, and Archer. Three boys and three girls. We six were only children when we were brought here. We all came from terrible backgrounds and neglectful families, so Medea rescued us from that and gave us a better life here and a new name that meant something to us.

Myself and Dagger were six when we were brought here and we both roughly remember our lives before although neither of us talk about it. The others don't remember their lives before Medea saved them because they were younger than six and the memories didn't stick, so I don't think they'll ever be as eternally grateful towards her than me and Dagger are.

Medea raised all six of us and taught us everything we know. She calls us her children even though none of us are biologically related. I'm hoping that this personal connection between us is what will get her to forget her rule of getting ourselves out of our own mess just this once, that she'll help get Striker before he's executed or put in prison.

"Hello dear," she stands at the bottom of my bed, her faithful guard behind her. "I am glad to see that you're okay. I was terribly worried when I was informed you'd come back here with a gunshot wound. Evidently the assignment didn't go as well as your usual ones do."

"That's why I wanted to speak to you," I say, fully aware and ashamed of how desperate I sound. Desperation is weakness and I hate myself for it right now. "Somebody betrayed us, Medea. The FBI – at least I think it was them – knew that we'd be there and they ambushed us. I don't know who betrayed us but I want permission to find out and to punish that person however I see fit."

"Permission granted," she replies immediately. Her voice is always soft and quiet, even when she's angry. She doesn't sound angry right now though; it's normal for people to want payback for a betrayal.

"There's also something else," I say. She tilts her head to the left and raises her eyebrows, signalling for me to continue. "Striker got caught while we were trying to get away." I leave out the fact that he ignored an important part of our training. It's not like I'm lying completely to her face. "Medea, I know that you always say that if we get caught, it's our own problem and we're left on our own and that you don't help us. But Striker... He doesn't deserve to be executed or locked in prison! You know that he's amazing at what he does and that he should have a second chance. _Please_, Medea. I'm begging you to work your magic and get Striker back."

I don't realise that I'm crying until Medea sits on the edge of my bed and wipes a tear from my face. "Artemis," she says in a strict tone but still in that soft voice. "No, I will not help him."

"But-"

"I said no. Those rules are in place for a reason. If I help one person, I will be expected to help others. Striker is like a son to me and it pains me dearly that chances are, we won't be seeing him again. Oh, Artemis. Don't cry. Assassins don't cry, how many times over the years have I told you that?"

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "It's just that Striker's the only person here that I trust, that I work well with. How am I going to do this without him?"

"Very easily. You are a strong young woman, just like I raised you to be, and you don't need a young man in your life to make you feel strong and capable of your job," she tells me. "This is exactly why I always say, especially to my children, that you shouldn't ever let yourself get too attached to someone. Getting too attached just ensures that you'll be hurt when things go bad. The others manage that, I never could understand why you and Striker couldn't put a little distance between you both.

"Of course I want Striker back. But if that's going to happen, he has to do it himself. I don't want you going out there trying to track him down and find out what's going to happen to him. It'll only hurt you more. That's an order, do you understand?"

I slowly nod my head and mumble a promise to her that I won't try and help Striker come back.

As Medea leaves not long after, I feel terrible.

This may just be the first time I've ever gone against one of Medea's order and although I feel guilty about it, I know that he would do the same thing for me.

* * *

**Artemis**

I wake up in the middle of the night and straight away I can feel the warm energy of somebody else in the room with me. Sitting up and expecting to find a nurse here, I am surprised to Cassandra, my 'adopted' sister, sat in the blue leather chair beside my hospital bed.

"Jesus, Cass," I curse, my hand going to my chest as I jump at the sight of her eyes staring straight at me through the darkness. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I'm not overly attached to Cassandra – I don't think anybody really is to be frank, she creeps a lot of people out – although I feel some sort of affection for her. I used to be quite protective of her, almost like a proper big sister, until she joined me and Striker on a hard assignment a few years ago and took out five people in the blink of an eye. It made me realize that despite her small, petite body, she is entirely capable of looking out for herself and doesn't need my protection.

At just fifteen, she looks a lot younger. Short blonde ringlets frame her face; she has chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes, and just has a vibe of vulnerability and innocence about her. Aside from when she's in a fight of course.

"Oh I did not mean to scare you," she says now in her high voice, her accent sounding rather posh and her words old-fashioned. That was another thing that made her so strange and made her stick out like a sore thumb. "I sincerely apologize for that, especially in the condition you are currently in. I was simply sleep-walking I think, for when I woke up I was in here."

"Right," I nod. "That makes sense." Cassie has had a habit of sleep-walking ever since I can remember, probably ever since Medea brought her here when she was four.

"I'm sorry about Striker," she says to me.

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Oh no," she shakes her head. "I saw it happening a few days ago, you both being betrayed and him being captured so that you could get away. I alerted Medea straight away obviously. I rather hoped she would tell you and stop you both from going so that the future changed, but alas it must have slipped her mind."

Cassandra, like her namesake from Greek mythology, has prophecies and visions of the future. Striker also has visions of the future, although his can be rather unpredictable and spontaneous. Cassie on the other hand is constantly seeing various possible outcomes of the future, so much so that she sometimes finds it hard to discern what's the present and what's the future, and often just has a sense of what the future holds in store for somebody.

"Wait, you had a vision of Striker being captured and Medea didn't even bother to tell us?" I'm shocked. If Medea really did care about our welfare as much as she says she does, why didn't she stop us from going on that assignment? She could have totally prevented Striker from being captured and me from being shot if she had. And why didn't she mention it earlier when I first told her what had happened? It just doesn't make sense.

"I don't understand it either," Cassie replies, easily figuring out where my thoughts are. "Perhaps she simply forgot. Whatever her reason, I am sure it is justified and that she had every right to not to tell you and Striker." She stands up, smoothing her hands down the ruffled pink nightgown she wears. "I am going to head back to bed, Art. I have an assignment and have to get up early to stalk my target on her day-to-day routine. I am glad you are okay, make sure to give yourself time to heal before you get back to work." She smiles sweetly at me – the smiles are always sweet and innocent when they're coming from Cassie – and heads over to the door.

"Wait!" I call out. She stops and turns back to look at me. "Have you seen anything else today about Striker? About what's going to happen to him?"

She shakes her head. "I do not know what the punishment for his crimes will be but if I do see anything I will come and find you to let you know. I have seen one thing about him though: he's going to have a family."

"What do you mean?" I frown in confusion. "Is he going to have children? Or like, parents and that?"

"He's going to have a proper family at last. He will be very happy with them," she concludes. She leaves the room then without another word.

I don't say goodbye to her. I'm confused about 'Striker having a proper family' but I am grateful she told me of the vision. Plus, I'm too lost in my thoughts to bring myself to thank her.

I keep thinking of possible scenarios or excuses Medea could have that warrant her practically letting Striker get caught but none of them seem like valid reasons for such a horrible outcome.

It really does make me wonder: is our betrayer somebody close to us that we never, in a million years, would have thought of accusing?


	4. Chapter 3

**Striker**

Let me tell you now: spending a night in a jail cell is not fun. Agent Victor Benedict – one of my six brothers, according to him – didn't seem very happy about leaving me there but he had no choice.

I spent the whole night wide awake and thinking about how crazy all of this was. Medea had always told me that my family had abused me, that by the time she saved me when I was three years old I was being abused on a daily basis and I was apparently covered in bruises as well as being way malnourished. She hadn't told me anything else about my family and I had never wanted to know. If they'd hurt me, why would I want to know who they were? I can't think of any reason why she'd lie to me so I'm pretty pissed that my 'family' know where I am now.

Half an hour ago I was dragged out of my cell and locked into the same office I was in yesterday, hands still in handcuffs. Now, I glare at Victor as he finally joins me in the room and sits across from me.

"Morning," he says, nodding a hello to me. "I hope a night in the cells wasn't too tough on you."

"As if you care, _brother_," I reply, sarcastically emphasizing the last word.

He sighs and looks at me as if he's disappointed with my attitude. What else does he expect? I wonder. "I do care, Zed," he says in a sad tone. "You're my little brother, of course I care. The whole family does. You're the reason I joined the FBI and our brother Trace joined the police force – we thought we'd stand a better chance of eventually finding you if we were officials ourselves. All the family have been desperate to have you back."

I frown at that. Why would the Benedict family even care if I weren't with them or not? They abused me, they were cruel to me and must have got some enjoyment or satisfaction out of it.

"I've been working all night," Victor continues, unaware of my thoughts. "Usually when an assassin is captured we keep them in jail for a couple of weeks whilst we gather evidence against them. Even if we know that they're an assassin, we still need proof of their crimes to be able to convict them. I doubt you'll tell us yourself the crimes you've committed?" I just stare at him. "No, I didn't think so. Assassins never talk; that's dedication for sure.

"Anyway, we can already convict you for the injuries that were inflicted upon our men at the apartment yesterday. Thankfully there were no deaths so you're not being done for murder. You resisted arrest, so you'll be in trouble for that too. But my colleagues are still trying to connect you to other assassinations and crimes, which means your court case will be in one month's time."

"Guess I better get comfortable in that cell then," I say, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms across my chest.

"That's not needed," he tells me, confusing me straight away. "I managed to pull some strings because of my position at work and because of my family's status in the net, and I've managed to get you released from prison. That is, on one condition: you stay in our parents' home. Ordinarily, you'd be kept in jail so that you can't run away and hide in the assassin's guild, wherever that is. You'll be on house arrest though and will have an ankle tag so that you get an electric shock whenever you leave the property, as well as an alert being sent immediately to the police who can track your location. I'll be checking in on you daily and monitoring your behaviour. If I feel like you're a threat to our family, you'll be dragged back here and locked up in a cell until your court date."

This is not news I am happy to hear. Why the hell would I want to go stay in the family home with people who hated me when I was a child? No matter what, they are not my family. If anybody is my family, it's Medea and her other 'children' – and even then I don't think I would fully consider any of them family.

I raise my eyebrows at Agent Benedict. "Do I have to go there? Frankly, I'm not dying to be reunited with my so-called family. I don't want or need a family, so you can get lost."

He looks surprised, as if he wasn't expecting me to say that I didn't want to go. "Fine," he says through clenched teeth, almost glaring at me. "Be difficult. You don't have to go there although it will disappoint our family. Stay in jail for the rest of the month. Hell, you could even be here for the rest of your life if you don't get the death sentence. Might as well start now, right? It's your choice, Zed."

I open my mouth to tell him to shove the choice up his ass because I'm not going anywhere with him, but I hesitate. I don't hesitate because I've suddenly changing my mind about wanting a family, because I haven't. I hesitate because the way I see it, if I want to escape – which I know I'll have to do seeing as Medea won't help me out of this mess – I stand a better chance of doing so if I am already out of jail. Yes, I'll have an ankle tag which will certainly not make things easy for me, but it'll definitely make it easier than being locked in a cell.

Victor Benedict's thoughts drift into my mind without me even realizing I'm using my power: _Come on, Zed. Say yes. We all want you to come home, you have no idea what we've been through. Why is he being this way? What the hell have the assassins changed him into?_

Resigning myself to do the thing I least want to do right now, I sigh and say, "okay. I'll be on house arrest at your parents' house." I refuse to call them _my_ parents.

Victor physically relaxes, his whole body heaving with a relieved sigh. Why, though? Why would he be happy that I agreed to go back to the house I was abused in? It doesn't make sense. Unless they want to control and abuse me again, which I will certainly not let happen.

"Thank God," he mumbles under his breath before looking at me again. "I have to deal with the paperwork but you'll be out of here by evening. I'm going to help you as best as I can, Zed. This is the start of a new life for you. I'll try and help you get away from the court case scot-free and then you can fully enjoy your life with us again."

Fat chance of that happening, I think to myself. I'm only going to stay with the Benedicts for as long as it takes to escape and get back to the guild where I belong.

* * *

**Striker**

In his car on the way to the Benedict family household, Victor tells me about my family. He tells me how I have five older brothers: Trace, who can see the past of objects he touches; Uriel, who can see people's pasts; Victor himself who can manipulate people's minds because he is very strong telepathically; next is Will who has the ability to sense danger; then there's Xav who is a healer. I also have a twin brother called Yves who controls the element fire. My mom is called Karla and she sees the future and reads minds (this gives me shivers a little because I have those exact same powers), and my dad is called Saul and like Will he senses danger.

I will admit that it sounds like the family is much more powerful than I thought they would be. Hearing about all their powers initially made me feel like escape would be impossible with all of them living there, but I feel a lot better now because Victor informed me that only Xav and Yves still live at home with the parents.

As he pulls up in front of the house, I unbuckle my seatbelt and look out of my window. The house is large which I guess it has to be considering the size of the family. It sits on the top a hill, next to a mountain covered in snow. There's three storeys to the house, the house itself looking quite old but still in good shape.

"We own the ski lodge on the mountain there," Victor explains to me as we both get out of his car. "Have you ever skied before?"

"No, but me and some my... friends," I say, thinking of Dagger and Archer, "go snowboarding a lot during the winter. I'm pretty good, not that I'm bragging or anything."

"Ooh," Victor winces. "Snowboarding is the enemy in our house, I wouldn't mention that to the others if I were you." I know he's joking, but I still can't help but think that snowboarding isn't the enemy here, _I_ am. We walk up the gravel driveway and stop outside the front door. "Just to prepare you, the whole family is in there. They couldn't resist, they just want to see you again. Mom's cooked a meal – she's a great cook – so we're all gonna sit down together. There's no getting out of it unfortunately."

_Great, _I think to myself as we enter the house. _A lovely family meal. Just what I need._

I don't have time to take in the décor of the house as Victor leads me straight into what looks like a dining room. There are two large tables pushed together and an array of mismatched chairs. Sitting in the chairs are people. A lot of people. Looking at them, I know with a sad heart that I can't deny that Victor was telling me the truth: these people are my family, at least biologically anyway. The resemblance between me and them is just too uncanny for us to not be related.

"This is Zed," Victor breaks the silence, speaking to his family. "It's really him."

A cry follows his words as a small, dark-haired woman jumps out of her seat and shuffles towards me, instantly throwing her arms around my waist and sobbing against my chest. My arms hang limply by my side and I awkwardly say, "um, you must be Karla?"

She pulls back and wipes tears from her cheeks, an elated smile on her face. "I'm your mom, yes. Oh Zed, I just can't believe we finally have you back! We are so, so happy to have you here."

Uncomfortable at having her undivided attention, I take the seat that Victor tells me to, sat to his left. I am introduced face-to-face to everyone and realize that I am sat next to Yves, my twin. We're clearly not identical in looks or style: his hair is shorter than mine and much neater, he's wearing round glasses, and he strikes me as pretty geeky and plain.

The meal is served and I must admit that Victor was right, it's delicious. I can't remember the last time I had a full meal like this, at the guild we usually just have takeaway or simple food. Nothing like this for sure anyway.

Around me, the others talk so easily with each other but I don't try and catch up with their conversation. I feel out of place here, sat with a bunch of people who's intentions towards me are still unclear, and I wish so badly that I was sat in the cafeteria at the guild with Artemis by my side as we take the piss out of the other assassins around us. I miss my best friend already.

When the conversation around me stills to a stop, I pull myself out of thoughts and look up. They're all looking at me as if they're expecting an answer to something. "What?" I ask as if I didn't understand or hear the question.

"I said," Saul says in a gentle tone, "that we're very pleased you're here with us, we've missed you a lot. Obviously, we now know that it was the assassins that kidnapped you so that you could be one of them, but we wondering if you at least had people that you were close to? We hate to think of you having nobody, Zed."

My first instinct is just to not answer him and leave the room or something. My second is to shout and scream at him. Instead, I go with my third instinct. In a voice just as calm as his had been I say, "I would prefer not to talk about my life in the guild, thank you. Also Saul, I would really appreciate it if you would all stop calling me Zed. I am not that person. My name is Striker now, please call me that."

They are all silent and staring. Surprisingly, it is Yves that answers me. "If you want to be called Striker, I'll call you Striker. I don't have a problem with it."

"Why did you call him Saul?" Karla blurts out, tears still in her eyes like there has been since I got here. "He's your dad, you should call him that."

"I don't have a dad," I reply bluntly. "And I don't a mom or brothers. I'm sorry but you're not my family. I don't remember a thing about any of you so why would I so suddenly go along with it and pretend like everything is so much better now? This isn't my life and my name is _not_ Zed Benedict."

I can tell that I'm seriously hurting Karla's feelings and it hits me that I actually feel bad about that and feel sorry for her. Pushing my chair back, I storm out of the dining room and leave the crying lady behind me. I stop in the hallway, running my fingers through my hair and wishing that I had the option to go to the training facilities the guild has so I can give my pent-up anger a release.

"Hey," a voice comes from behind me.

Spinning around, I come face to face with Yves. "If you're expecting me to go in and apologize, you can fuck off right now."

"I'm not going to ask you to do that," he shakes his head. He nods his head towards my right ankle which is encased in a thick metal ankle bracelet issued from the police. "I was wondering where you thought you were going to go." When I don't answer, he continues. "I know that I can't possibly know exactly how you're feeling right now but I can guess. This is obviously hard on you, none of us expected it to be any different.

"Mom and dad have just wanted you home with us for so long and mom can get carried away at times. Don't blame her or get angry at her, any parent would act the same as she is. She just wants her family back and she knows that will take time.

"I'm guessing you don't want to go back in there, so why don't I show you to your bedroom?" He sighs loudly when I don't answer him. "Come on, Striker. You have nowhere else to go."

"You called me Striker."

"It's your name, isn't it?" He asks; I nod. "Well then. Follow me."

He heads up the stairs and a second later, I follow him.

* * *

**Artemis**

Medea named her three boys based on what they were good at. For example, Striker got his name because he never hesitates to strike at people in any given situation. She named her three girls after Greek goddesses that are connected to them in some way.

She didn't call me Artemis for nothing.

The goddess Artemis is primarily known for being the goddess of the hunt. To explain my savant power basically, I can sense people's energies. This also includes being able to sense where people have been most recently which helps me track them down; helps me to _hunt_ them. I am the best hunter in the guild and I think I definitely live up to my name.

Against the nurses orders, I discharged myself from hospital earlier this evening and quickly got a shower and got dressed, as well as hiding a few weapons on my body. I was determined to track down Striker. I may be going against Medea's orders but I have no regrets. I know that Striker would do anything to help me too if our roles were reversed.

It didn't take long for me to hunt Striker. I knew that they would have taken him to the local police station and just standing outside of it I had felt a lasting imprint of his energy. That had surprised me – I had thought he would still be in there, but he clearly wasn't.

After that, I stalked around in the darkening shadows of the street, waiting for my power to alert me to the feel of his energy. My power drew me towards one of the snow covered mountains and I spotted a golden glow on the hill beside the mountain. _There._

I found a house on the hill with numerous cars parked outside of it. Now, I'm hidden in one of the huge trees – there is basically a small woodlands area behind the house – that face the back of the house, the thick brush of leaves concealing me from view.

I can feel Striker's energy inside the house, as well as an energy that also feels somewhat vaguely familiar to me. It takes me a second to figure out where I've felt that energy before: in that blasted apartment yesterday. There are other energies too, seven savants by the feel of it, but none are energies that I recognize.

Why is Striker here, in a house on a random hill with a bunch of savants that we don't know? It doesn't make any sense. He should be being held in jail right now, that's how this usually goes.

I'm not complaining about him being here of course, it'll be easier to rescue him from here than a prison cell, but I hate not knowing things. _Why is he here?_

A light goes on in the window of a room on the third floor and my entire body tenses when I see Striker walk up to the window and glance outside. His eyes scan the tree line and I wait with held breath whilst waiting for him to notice me. He doesn't though of course, I am too well hidden.

Striker closes the bedroom curtains, hiding himself from my view.

Tonight won't be the night I rescue him. I don't doubt that he'll be being watched with it being so soon since he was captured, plus I have no idea who is in that house with them and whether Striker and I will stand a chance against them when we're that outnumbered.

I climb easily and silently down the tree, deciding to pay a visit to the Archives room in the guild that holds every document somebody would ever need. Surely there will be something about this house and who lives here, those are the kind of records an assassins needs when stalking a target.

I cast one last look at the house and send a thought to Striker even though I know he won't hear it because I'm not using telepathy and I'm protecting my thoughts in case there are other mind readers around. _I won't let you get killed or sent to prison, Striker. We've always looked after each other and that isn't going to change any time soon. I'll come back for you, I swear._

Then I look away from the house and let the darkness of the shadows swallow me whole.

* * *

Author's note: I know that Yves and Zed aren't twins in the books, but for the purpose of this story I have made them twins.

Your reviews have been great so far, please keep them coming! :)


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